Once again
by notwhitenorblack
Summary: Sometimes you need to repair something so that it would live. Sometimes you take what you have and form whatever you can. Sometimes… Sometimes you must crush something for it not to be broken. And built it anew. So yes, he failed. His utopia has fallen but he survived. And if he survived, everything can happen – once again.
1. Prologue: A Harbinger

**Summary:** Sometimes you need to repair something so that it would live. Sometimes you take what you have and form whatever you can. Sometimes… Sometimes you need to crush something for it not to be broken. And built it anew. So yes, he failed. His utopia has fallen but he survived. And if he survived, everything can happen – once again.

 **Disclaimer:** Obviously, I don't own Naruto or any characters but my OCs. It's written for fun entirely.

 **Warnings:** The story is rated M for a reason. There will be **_graphic depictions of violence_** , **_gore_** even, especially in the beginning, **_mentions of abuse_** and whatever else the crazy part of my head can come up with. **_Eventual gay and lesbian relationships_** , as well as **_straight relationships_**. Probably nothing too erotic, I'm not good at these and pairings won't be the main focus anyway but if you want, you can suggest something, I'm open for propositions. Oh, and it's going to be rather long, I have about five parts planned so far, so bear with me.

 **Prologue  
A Harbinger**

* * *

 _[Harbinger_

 _1.A person or thing that announces or signals the approach of another._

 _2.A forerunner of something.]_

* * *

 _Did you know?_

She stands before him like all these times before, waves her hand and there's a smile and hey, Obito, you're late again!

 _Once, there were two priests travelling through a forest._

Not alone. Never alone. There are others and he sees them as if it was yesterday. A man, sun-kissed hair and blue eyes, and calm smile he could never quite forget. A boy with silver-grey hair, indifferent dark eyes and this annoying mask on his face. And her.

 _They were from the Temple of Fire in our country, coming back home after a long journey to a village far, far away from the Temple._

(She's beautiful, isn't she?)

 _They were thirsty and hungry but kept going. A very important festival was to start soon. Before that, however, they had to pass a treacherous river._

Petite and delicate, and as warm as the sun. There's a surge of fierce protectiveness because she is always there for him, the most important person in his life (because he can always count on her smile and he's sure there will never be other). It's sweet and calm, and oh so innocent, the want, the desire for her to just be happy.

 _Of course, it was not a danger to them. They could use chakra, so passing the river would be easy enough. Coming to the river they realised one thing – there was a woman on the same bank, a civilian, looking at the water, and she wasn't strong enough to pass it on her own._

Skin like alabaster, perfect, there is nothing as pretty as her face, with chocolate hair flowing in the wind, with a kind smile and laugh like little bells and it's just simply crazy, how much he loves that laugh and that smile. Healing abilities and they suit her so well, that fragile girl with great dreams of peace.

 _The elder priest took her in his arms to the other bank and left the grateful woman there. Then, he went forward, soon to be joined by the younger one. The young priest was angry at the elder one. 'Why', he asked, 'did you help the woman?'. At that time, no priest could touch a woman, it was as forbidden, as going against the will of the Head of the Temple._

 _The older priest only looked at him. 'I have left the woman near the river', he said. 'Why are you still carrying her with you?'._

He looks at her eyes and stops, frowns. Her eyes, what were they? (He can't, he just can't remember and why, why?) Shouldn't there be happiness, he's sure there once was but now these eyes are dark and broken, despairing with quiet 'I'm sorry', delicate smile, this empty smile, with dark red liquid in the right corner and it pours out, down and down to her chin, dark contrast of blood on dead-pale skin. Purple signs like bloody tears, droplets on broken perfection and why, why, why did it have to happen? So many questions.

 _Let's make each other a promise, okay? So that we would be like the elder priest. Let's let the past stay in the past or this war will never end._

(Something sharp in his chest, oh so very sharp.)

He remembers. He'll never forget.

 ** _I can't._**

 _-o-_

He looks at the Uzumaki girl, her eyes wide, familiar but alien at the same time. Bodies, scattered around like broken puppets, just toys crushed under his wrath, start to cool, well-known hitai-ate covered in dirt and blood and there is a metallic smell in the air hovering around like a caricature of home. All this. Just war. Just world.

\- Tobi – says Hozuki harshly, angry grimace showing off sharp, shark-like teeth. – It was uncalled for! What the hell you think you're doing!

Uzumaki girl closes her eyes and hugs tightly the Hikari kid. There is an anguished look on both of their faces, light of water in terrified eyes. Only Hozuki is looking at him defiantly, mad and unbelieving and Uchiha can't stop himself from scoffing.

\- It's war – he says clicking his tongue, normal indifference gone. Obito doesn't really understand it, how easily annoyed and angered he has become, strong will and control fading in the background of fierce rage.

He changed, the Fourth War changed him in more than one way, just like Rin's death had done all these decades before, and he can't say yet if he likes it or not.

(There are violence and blood, blood, blood and he wants only to catch the mop of these light blue hair and hit, hit until red scattered on the pale skin and brain mass is left on the cold cave walls.)

There must be something showing on his face or maybe in the black eye because Hozuki yelps suddenly and jumps back in fear, wide irises looking at him, panicked and unbelieving.

\- They were innocent – whispers Uzumaki, her eyes now closed tightly and voice trembling. Hikari kid cries openly, tears staining girl's coat wet.

\- There are no innocent shinobi – snarls Uchiha and the three cringe. For a brief moment, there's nothing but tense silence.

(And then the red cloud is gone, and, suddenly what, why was he doing it, three silhouettes standing, panicked, the only allies he has for a time, it's ridiculous.)

He struggles with a hot ball of anger in his gut, with heaviness in his chest and calm returns. He sighs.

\- We need to go – he says, something soft and sharp at the same time cutting through his mind. They don't move and heaviness in his chest triples without a reason.

\- We need to go – he repeats, eyes black and apathetic, and his allies look at him and slowly nod. They leave the clearing, signs of battle left far behind them.

\- I hate war – mutters the kid. – I hate shinobi.

Uzumaki takes him in her arms, whispers soothingly in his ears, Hozuki not even two steps behind with Uchiha leading the way.

\- It will be stopped – says Uchiha. – The war, the world, the pain. We'll build it anew.

No one says anything more.

(And yet it whispers, oh whispers, not unlike once Juubi did.)

Dark clouds are gathering in the sky above, thunder in a not that far distance and first rain droplets meet the earth. At the same time in one village far in Fire Country, trees whisper, the wind blows. A woman takes a cup in her hand and suddenly it cracks, precious liquid pouring out on her clothes and table.

She looks, sighs and then swears loudly, tired look on her face.

* * *

 **Notes:** This project is more of a way to practice my English that anything else. It's going to be a long story focused on Uchiha Obito with some twists and changes, mostly a journey of an anti-hero, a villain even. Some of you may be disappointed because it's not going to be Uchiha Obito we know from the anime – the one that changed and left Madara due to some words said by Naruto. Don't get me wrong. Naruto has a great gift and really can change people's hearts. However, with Uchiha clan curse of hatred, so deeply rooted in their minds and hearts it seems impossible for Obito to turn on Madara/Kaguya just like that. If Sasuke, an avenger, full of hatred, could be against all of them almost to the end, if Madara would be exactly the same, as well as many other Uchiha we met along the way like Fugaku and the rest of the clan before the planned coup, I just can't believe he would change so quickly.

You could say it's an AU. Everything till the Fourth Shinobi War is the same but it changes dramatically during that time. Some of the dates may also be a bit different to fit the plot better. There will be a few of OC but they won't play that big of a role for most of the time.

Just wanted to warn that I'm not a native speaker and it's my first story in English, so sorry for all the grammatical errors!

Wish you a good read and if you like it – review! Also, I don't have a beta reader, so if you want to be one, just tell me!

Signing out,

notwhitenorblack


	2. Chapter 1: Since time immemorial

**Summary:** Sometimes you need to repair something so that it would live. Sometimes you take what you have and form whatever you can. Sometimes… Sometimes you need to crush something for it not to be broken. And built it anew. So yes, he failed. His utopia has fallen but he survived. And if he survived, everything can happen – once again.

 **Rating:** M

 **Disclaimer:** Obviously, I don't own Naruto or any characters but my OCs. It's written for fun entirely.

 **Warnings:** angst, graphic depictions of effects of violence, maybe a bit of a gore

 **Chapter 1**

 **Since time immemorial**

 _[since time immemorial – happening for such a long time that it's hard to remember when it wasn't]_

He remembers the pain.

His body feels broken as if even the smallest cell has been teared up cruelly. He can't move any of his limbs and only trying to breathe causes a wave of fierce ache, his lungs heavy and fallen, crushed by powerful force.

Fingers of his left-hand twitch and he knows they're trying to catch something, call for help. But the world doesn't work like that, he thinks. There is nothing free there, nothing warm, so he doesn't expect it, especially that the only ones that could find him are the forces of the Shinobi Alliance, scattered but still dangerous, or Madara's subordinates. Everything that he has ever achieved was always thanks to his will and determination only. _Because the world never gives you anything without expecting even more in return._

Really, he should have known that it would end like this. That he would fall on hands of those that he once saved or because of the one that saved him. Life is ironic like that. For a brief moment, he thinks about Hatake, imagines his expression if the man could find him now, but the thought quickly dissipates.

 _(He remembers Hatake's expression after 'Madara' lost his mask and the jounin really_ saw _him for the first time in decades and there is an ache in his chest and anger, so much raw_ anger _.)_

And then there comes another painful wave when crushing heaviness feels lower, stronger. The ache is terrible, so terrible he wants to cry out it to the world, _hating, hating so much_ , his lips however, or rather what is left of them, release only inarticulate sound of protest. He hasn't felt like this for a long, long time. Almost comparable to that one day that changed everything, that opened his eyes to the world, when he had saved lives of his teammates and had almost died crushed by boulders and saved by Madara.

Yes, ironic, to die like this. Ah, or maybe it is just a fate. One death through crushing under boulders for Uchiha Obito, please. Or maybe two for the boy didn't manage to kick the bucket the first time. He wants to laugh mockingly, laugh at this absurd moment, absurd life, absurd world, but he stops himself, feeling his body moving again. Twitch in his left leg this time, just the last grappling of his dying body, searching blindly for a way out. He grits his teeth – well, rather their small part that he still has – and tries to see something, a spark of light, a small crack in the heavy darkness, anything, but he doesn't have _eyes_ anymore and for a moment he feels fear, _panic_ but pushes them away and focuses, attempts to catch fleeting, fading thoughts.

He doesn't have an intention to die yet.

People outside the clan tend to think that Sharingan is only kekkei genkai in the form of eyes, that without them you don't have it anymore but they are mistaken. Yes, most of the abilities are there, in these gifted but cursed eyes, most of the power, not all, however. Sharingan is a bloodline, it is a part of the body, not the eyes itself, it takes roots in the brain, in special kind of chakra and even if it would be hard and mostly useless to use any of these abilities without the focus of the eyes, it isn't impossible. Uchiha Madara could do it, could make you _listen_ and _shape you_ without using doujutsu, could _manipulate_ you with the darkness in your mind, _awake_ your insanity and it wasn't only his genius and intelligence, it was his chakra, subtly changing, forming, _murdering_ your self and turning it into what the Konoha founder needed. Every Uchiha is like that, just not every as powerful. With Mangekyou comes the power on par with Kages, with Eternal comes that on par with gods.

And chakra of every Uchiha is different, just like chakra of every human being. Mangekyou are different, their abilities vary. That is one of the reasons Hatake couldn't stop using his gifted doujutsu – and really, how stupid he had been to give the jounin _his own eye_? – or use other of its abilities. Hatake could sustain the Sharingan with his chakra, could keep it alive, yes, but he didn't have the bloodline, he couldn't control it, his chakra was at most hardly compatible and not special at all. The shinobi wasn't what the Sharingan eye wanted and needed, his body wasn't that of that weak, pathetic shinobi known as Uchiha Obito. Or Madara. Or Tobi.

No difference.

If he still had brows, he would furrow them – but because they are crushed and the smallest move awoke pain anew, he decides that it would be a bad idea. He can't let himself to waste energy, not now. Really, he is dying – oh well, he, in fact, _could_ , that is if he really wanted to join all the other unfortunate enough in Shinigami's stomach for the rest of eternity but, well, he somehow doesn't feel in a rush to do so. He never liked hot places.

He focuses then, feeling for his chakra – and had he really lost so much in the battle?; his reserves are so small it's almost funny – and he pulls.

It listens to him reluctantly as if Kamui was alien, yet written into it just through the fact that it belongs to him. He feels strange and the first try ends in failure, seeping from his already small reserves. Still, he can't just give up. The seal that the kid has put on him must have really screwed up his control even if he thought that he had broken it in the process. However, he could have ended without chakra at all, like the brat had threatened, so he isn't going to complain. He focuses once more on that weird, resistive energy and pulls, again and again, defying its objections and sends precisely to his face and through that to the right eye. (And he can't even feel it with all the aching parts, his eye seems to be hollow and dead and he feels it rising again, the anger, the fear, the _panic._ ) Chakra flies through it softly, like delicate, cool water on a fevered forehead, washing away the heaviness first from his face, then chest, hands and finally legs. There is torrid relief spilling eagerly in his body but aware of dwindling reserves, he moves and goes up, leaving boulders behind as if they were air. Only after a few minutes of blundering around, he realizes how deep under the ground he was. He leaves the ground before finishing off the rest of his chakra and tries to sense the surrounding area despite exhaustion and pain in dying body. There isn't a sign of the Alliance nor Madara, nor Zetsu and he lies down and cuts off his chakra, suddenly wheezing through broken lungs, coughing harshly.

And there is the pain in a powerful wave, oh gods, so much pain but he only grits the rest of his teeth and _endures_. He is shinobi, his life is all about it, about enduring the impossible, _surviving_. However, he knows that even his will and once strong body are falling farther and farther into oblivion and he has to do something, quickly, because soon he won't have a chance anymore. Maybe that useless pile of meat can get through few more hours thanks to sustaining it chakra but time is passing and Madara or Zetsu can come get him every moment or maybe (and he can't even decide what would be worse, not really) the Shinobi Alliance can find him. The problem is that he just… he just doesn't know what to do.

 _(And he's drowning, drowning in pain, broken mind and even more broken body failing with every passing second and what was it so important he should be doing now?)_

Ah, yes. He needs to heal somehow, doesn't he?

Diagnostic technique is based mostly on chakra and it feels like cold wind and stench of death, shows clearly crushed bones, muscles, arteries in the right half of his body, all of the vitals damaged or squashed into unaesthetic pulp and irreversibly mutilated eye – an irony again, seeing as these are almost the same wounds in almost the same places as all those decades ago, though more critical this time. The left half of the body is in a lot better state with just a few broken bones, cuts and an empty eyehole. It isn't even surprising after that bastard, Madara, took away his Rinnegan. Still, he knows without a doubt: he's dying like a dog and can't think of a way to go through this.

For a brief moment, he's only lying on the ground like a mutilated corpse, feeling sharp stinging flowing through the waves of tremendous pain, maybe sand or pebbles, maybe rocks – and not for the first time, really, he starts to hate these damned techniques. The world would be a lot more tolerable without the Hidden Stone Village or without any stones at all. Soon, he thinks also about the Leaf and isn't this place even worse? Maybe Shisui was a good kid but, well, he's been pushing up daisies for the last few years. Also…

He doesn't know. There is nothing, not even him forgotten in this empty moment, there're no pebbles or ground, no himself at all or any plans or desires. He can't remember, thoughts changing like in a kaleidoscope, blood and life leaving ruined body and he _can't do anything._

Even if he survived the fall of Akatsuki.

Even if he got through the Fourth Shinobi War.

Even if he avoided death on hands of the Shinobi Alliance.

Even if he was betrayed and left to perish, and yet lived to tell the tale.

 _Even if he endured._

He swears in mind. He was a man of war. Many were killed. Many gave up. Hi didn't. He never would.

But what to do? With miniscule amount of chakra. Without any significant medical skills or any equipment. Without the eye taken by Madara.

Without the Rinnegan.

He still remembers the feeling he had during it's first activation. Rinnegan and Sharingan were related, one born from the other. For some time he had both and now he lost them but he still had _chakra_. He could use the Kamui, so maybe he could somehow use the Rinnegan, form it anew. Fight until he endured again.

Or not. The Rinnegan was an unknown doujutsu, no one really used its true power since the time of the Sage of Six Paths. Madara showed part of its abilities, Obito got to know a few but it was never what it has become while used by the Savior of the shinobi world. To believe this kind of myths or to even try it out, how desperate he must have become. Still, he doesn't have anything to lose, now does he?

No, he doesn't.

So, he touches again his chakra and pulls. The energy answers slowly and grudgingly, almost crudely but at least it listens to him. He catches it before it can fade and thinks.

He already realized it but it's unfamiliar and alien and after trying to use the regeneration written into Hashirama Senju's DNA he sees that it's also _empty_ or maybe kind of _distant_. He can't find anything that could help him in healing or sustain his life. There's just _nothing_.

Then suddenly something appears. He senses change he didn't see before. That is, he, of course, knew that Sharingan and Rinnegan are from the same branch but they work and are activated differently. While Sharingan needs adamant, spherical chakra movements into eyes or outside of the body depending on the technique, Rinnegan requires precise, persistent stream to activate and then it just stays, feeding on body's energy, not only as a part of the chakra but also as a part of the _body_. Because of Madara taking away his eye, in theory, he has lost the doujutsu irrevocably.

In practice, he feels a surge – a thin, close to an imperceptible change in chakra that almost screams at him 'Rinnegan'. On the other hand, it is rather hard to say, seeing that he has one ear drowned in blood, the second crushed, as well as a messy pulp instead of a part of his skull and maybe even _brain_.

On second thought, add to that gallows humor.

Still, there a Trace and it can disappear every second but he can use it as long as it's there. And so he does. Chakra is more and more reluctant with every moment, its amount smaller and smaller, so he does it as quickly as he can – he forms a stream of energy and pours it to his left eye, the one that once housed the bloodline.

It doesn't rebound it. It really doesn't.

It freaking _backfires_ like a damned explosive tag.

His chakra suddenly pulls away and disperses with a sharp cut through his body, leaving him exhausted and disheartened. Minutes pass quietly in the darkness with nothing but pain, incomprehension and slowly approaching death. And then he tries again and again, and it backfires every time as if it never belonged there. He tries once more, desperately, to his right eye this time, though he doesn't really expect any results.

When it doesn't rebound, he feels satisfaction. When there comes a wave of blaze-hot ache from his right eye, he feels fear because he knows that something went really, really wrong.

And soon he doesn't know how long he lies on that damned ground, choking on his own screams and coughs, and blood, he can't remember ever feeling this kind of pain and he's _drowning_ into oblivion. The night or the day – it's calm with delicate, cool wind brushing his oversensitive body, mocking him or maybe just indifferent, he can't say because there is only pain, he's pain, only fierce ache-ache-ache and nothing more and then…

There's a pull and he finally succumbs to darkness.

 _IIYII_

When he opens his eyes once more – no, when he's conscious again because he doesn't have _eyes_ , does he? – he's in the dark. Well, it's rather obvious, mocks him the sarcastic part of his mind, with no organ to see and all that. There's also no misery, no pain, in fact, there's simply nothing – and he realizes that he's in his own mind where once Juubi lived.

Yes, lived was a good word. Because the demon wasn't there anymore.

Yes, the great, ten-tailed demon simply left somewhere without a notice.

He focuses for a while, searching, sensing, overwhelmed and definitely confused because something like this just can't happen. He was a Jinchuuriki and without a bijuu, Jinchuuriki is as good as dead, and how could he even have lost the beast without being caught by anyone? And… No, he thinks. That's not it.

Juubi didn't go anywhere. It is still there, or maybe what's left of him. Scraps of once powerful chakra floating in the thick darkness and whispers of Obito's energy but without the demon being present itself, without its hateful voice or claws, or fangs biting and scratching on the wall of the seal. As if Juubi… died. Disappeared. As if the beast was _erased_.

And maybe this is what happened. Maybe the seal was finally broken, letting in one even more powerful but faulty and it annihilated it, leaving only useless scrapes of once god-like being. Maybe because of the connection Juubi took the hit that was to go to his vessel.

Or maybe not so useless. He reaches out with intangible hand to the one of the scraps of energy and catches it carefully. There is a moment of hesitation and then hot but strangely soothing sensation of answering energy. Soon there is nothing to do but finally use it and make his body right.

The heaviness in his chest that he didn't even know about disappears with finding a solution to the problem. First, he takes care of his head, stabilizing brain functions (not _very_ damaged… hopefully) and setting anew bones of the skull, jaws and neck. Then he gives first aid to his broken ribs and fallen lungs and how daunting it is to try to repair everything, the smallest of fibres, the most miniscule of bone scraps. It feels like maneuvering on a thin line between life and death where the smallest mistake can send him into eternity. But there is something in his mind, parts of ancient entity that took part in creation and destruction of life for thousands of years, and he doesn't stumble for now. There is sensation of formed anew organs, crushed beyond recognition yet sustained and delicately shaped into what they once were. It's humbling, the amount of this sudden knowledge, and empowering at the same time. How long it takes, it's hard to say but his mind is less broken and screaming suddenly, shouting at him to go away and hide. Instincts once more awaken, he takes a moment to once again use the Kamui and floats for a few hundreds of meters using his sense of smell only to find a safer area. Afterwards, he looks around, trying to find any enemies but the night is starless and silent, with only a part of moon high in the dark sky. He breaths with relief, lying on the cold stone, then suddenly stills.

He looks around once.

And again.

In that moment, he realizes that he can see again.

There is still only empty socket instead of his left eye but the right one is widely open and _working_. It's weak and sends feelings of aching cuts through his head, a pain on the border of madness. The world is fading when he closes it and blurry images are left after opening it again but it's functional and this is the only thing that counts now.

Is it Sharingan? Rinnegan? Something different or just a normal eye? What happened? He doesn't know but for not it doesn't matter. He turns off the Kamui, newfound strength leaving him suddenly, and feels sharp edges of rocks pushing into his back. He can't go on but he did delay the death for a few more hours and while he is still with at death's door, it has to be enough for now. Rest, he needs rest now. He'll come back to the healing later but for now he's as stabilized as one can be after such an ordeal, on the borderline of aching madness and he wants it to _stop_.

It doesn't and the pain is too much, keeping him moaning, wheezing and awake. He doesn't know how much time passes. He's on the line between life and death and seemingly still hesitant, not choosing neither. The only sensible thoughts he has are about the scraps of Juubi's chakra: to the shrieking paths that can't stand any kind of demonic energy (his broken body seems to forget all it learnt before, it's insane, just insane, he got used to it already, why is it happening now); to the cold of the wind on his sweaty skin and the heat of burns created by amateur use of medical technique' to the emptiness where once sounded the powerful, bleak voice of the demon.

If someone has told him a week ago that he would feel unsettled because of the beast's lack of presence, he would send them without any remorse to become Kabuto's test subject. It is just… yes, unsettling is a good word. Nothing more but unsettling.

Well, maybe a bit more than that. He does want the return of the cruel, savage, bloodthirsty and in every sense _evil_ monster. Birds of a feather flock together, hn?

In one moment, though, something changes and lone... unsettling feeling becomes the least of his worries. He didn't really see anything wrong happening to his body (not counting being crushed under boulders) but suddenly he feels _hunger_ and it's not possible. He didn't feel any hunger since the memorable mission near the Kanabi Bridge.

He felt death closely at that time. He sensed it with every cell and every inch of hair on his neck. Just like it is now. He would have died if not for the imprint of the Sharingan burnt in his core. He would have perished if not for the last whispers of the Rinnegan. He would have disappeared if not for the Juubi's chakra.

Nothing would happen, however, if not for the strength of his will and simple stubbornness. If not for them, he would have already been dead for a long time.

He is still there, though. Breathing even with crushed bones turning inhaled air into flames of pain; healing with the demon's chakra even if his paths and gates cry, moan and fight against it forcing the body to tremble uncontrollably; digesting even if not that long ago his organs were only undetermined mix of blood, smooth muscles and gastric acids.

He lives even with so many wanting him dead. Yes, there's pain. And anger. And fear.

 _But he still exists._

He opens mouth and catches little droplets of water during the rain. He eats rations sealed in scrolls and hides in shadows of stones against the chill and the hostile world like a child terrified by darkness. It's a pitiful, empty existence, just an instinct throwing him among perilous terrains – be he still is. Latent, with silenced chakra deep inside the paths and because of that nonexistent for others. Only moments of healing brighten the cave with deeply red light but these are too important to forsake. Risk or death. The choice is simple.

During the times between one healing session and the other he drowns in his own mind, a dark and empty space just as pointless as his present life. It's just like in the past when he still was a naïve Konoha chuunin. Sometimes he just stays there when everything becomes too much, just a few stolen hours of safety and peace. Other times he thinks about everything that happened and creates again the lost forest of memories. Meditation is soothing and calming, even if most of techniques he used in the past requires a healthy, clean mind, not its crippled caricature.

For the first three days, the world is only a mist of pain and scorching energy. Next there come shrieks of broken and joined bones, and muscles stitched with chakra. Stabilization isn't enough. It's only the beginning.

On the seventh day, he once again opens his eye and finally leaves the previous state of half-death. He looks around in the darkness of the night, then hears chirping of birds and knows that he can't see anymore. Sudden panic that comes with realization makes him loose consciousness again.

When he wakes up afterwards, he doesn't even try to see. He still can only move the left half of his body and feels fear while thinking about the right one, once again broken, mutilated. He wonders if this time he's going to finally loose sense of touch in it and with it the possibility of defense.

 _He wonders if he's going to die._

He doesn't want to. There's still too much to do in this world, too much misery and absurd, and lies and he's not going to just let them be. First, though, he needs to take care of other things, like keeping himself alive and healthy if possible.

This is the way his days pass. Through reformation of crushed organs and set up of ribs, bones of chest, then those of limbs. He doesn't move, not counting eating light meals that consist mostly of diffused mushes. At first, he always ends vomiting everything he eats, throwing away both precious food, water, bile, blood and teeth splinters. Rations found in one of the only two scrolls still left in torn pocket are different than the ones he thought he had packed during the war. He probably lost a large amount and now he has only a few of the old types of rations that can remain edible for years and even with their nauseating taste they're easy to prepare and eat, so it's not that bad of a situation.

And in the end the taste doesn't have any value when his lips are pierced by pain with the smallest touch while useless, crushed muscle of tongue cowered in the back of his mouth like a fistful of metallic dirt.

With passing time and coming with that all the healing sessions, he starts to feel a bit better. Ache is still as tearing but the dizziness and weakness begin to fade.

On the eighth day comes a fever.

It can be an infection or an objection of the crippled body, or maybe both at the same time. It's terrifying, causing convulsions and liters of sweat but the worst thing is the oncoming exhaustion, terrible, deadly even.

It lasts four long days – the time of uncertainty, cutting ache and fear, of alternating chill and heat. When it finally ends, he's even weaker than before and once again on the line between death and life, with wounds open and bleeding profusely – but still alive.

He doesn't know the time after his awakening or where he is. For a brief moment, he can't remember his own name.

Then, he opens his eye, sees the darkness and memories come back and with them anger colored with fear. There's no amazement due to continuous blindness. There's also no regret.

He focuses his chakra but it doesn't bear any results. He has never been a medic and the eyes are especially complicated systems, even for the sense of ancient knowledge he got before. These eyes, so damaged and broken, seem to be impossible to save.

But he saw, didn't he? Whatever he did these past days, it returned his sight even if blurred and only for a fleeting time. He furrows his brows in thought and then remembers. Chakra, yes, but used differently. He woke his right eye with precise stream that in the past turned on his Rinnegan.

He immediately pulls back all the traces of demon chakra from his eye and catches his own. It comes with delicate movements, as perfect as can be in this situation and hides inside the right eyehole. He feels a spark and there's a feeling of wrongness when chakra reluctantly, though still faster than before, forms the intricate pattern of the Mangekyou but even with Sharingan the world is still nonexistent. He changes it then, takes spherical movements and turns them into a stream.

As before, there is uncontrolled wave of pain and he groans, too weak to cry out. Then the ache passes suddenly and he opens his eye, already expecting the previous sight of blurry cave cast in shadows.

What greets him is darkness and he grits his teeth because whatever he has, Mangekyou or Rinnegan, it's not enough, it doesn't matter. He's blind as a bad, both doujutsu simply useless.

Then, suddenly, something glints in the corner of his eye, something bright and he look up into the dark of the cave. He can see a crack in the stone above and a spark far behind it. Never before has he thought that one can be so relieved with the sight of starry sky. He focuses on it, drinks it greedily like a man starved of the world, drowns in the white and frail light in the distance, not feeling even the smallest of smiles that forms on his mutilated lips. He observes in silence for who knows how long, stopping only with the loss of consciousness.

 _IIYII_

He's woken up by brightness of sunlight, causing him to jerk violently and hide deeper in shadows of the cave, resenting it. Still, photophobia means that he sees and it motivates him to further healing. Finally, he feels that he really will survive once again.

Two days later he decides that he's ready to depart. His supplies run out this evening and it's only one more motivation to change the place, so he stands up with a significant effort, pushing hurting, mutilated hand to his stomach and goes forward, his steps wobbly and unsure.

Maybe he has lost a goal in this life. Maybe he has been betrayed and once again cruelly crippled, while his plans and ambitions has fallen to dust. However, he still has something. He limps to the north and his body shrieks in pain but there's also anger and satisfaction in his mind. Corner of his mouth turns almost unnoticeably upwards because there's understanding and calmness as well, and determination to still go forward. After all, the pain means that he's still kicking.

He'll make them pay.


End file.
